


The Winter King

by smell_the_roses



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Bodyguard Steve, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Forced Marriage, Homesickness, I haven't tagged stuff in ages what should I put, Knight Steve, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Thief Bucky Barnes, but not with the main pairing, king bucky, queen natasha
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 02:51:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11865123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smell_the_roses/pseuds/smell_the_roses
Summary: The Winter King is the name given to the kingdom's least favorite Royal and Steve is inexplicably assigned as the king's personal guard after punching said Royal in the face.King of Attolia AU





	The Winter King

Steve Rogers knew he was in his final hours. His eyes couldn’t help but track the weak points of the battered, old door keeping him in this room. It’s a storage room in the tower closest to the royal guard’s training grounds. It is used to store grain in the winter but is generally empty any other season. The knights that put him in here didn’t bother with pretense and no one’s standing outside of the door. It’s Steve’s honor that’s bound him here to wait for the end.

They call the new royal the Winter King but when Steve punched him, he felt as warm and soft as any other human being. Which made the sickening sound of a body hitting the unyielding tile floor of the guard’s training ground all the more stomach churning.

The kingdom hates their new king. He’s a foreigner and a former thief but that doesn’t change the fact that Steve went against the oath he swore when he became a member of the royal guard and harmed the man he is meant to protect.

“You’ve been stripped of your title, of course,” the Lieutenant to the head of the royal guard, Nick Fury, states as he bangs open the same door that has taken Steve’s attention. He looks unsurprised to see Steve hasn’t broken out. “The Queen is not yet back from her hunting trip but word has been sent to her party and I expect she’ll want your detached head given to her as a gift upon her arrival.”

When Steve doesn’t say anything, Lieutenant Colonel Fury sighs and wipes his face with his left hand slowly.

“Why did you let him get to you, Rogers? The man is half your size and is missing an arm.”

Steve does the dignified thing and buries his face into his hands. The Queen is well loved. She is a fair and just royal that will not hesitate to exact the punishment Steve deserves despite his years of service under her rule. He believes in her, which is why he took the oath in the first place.

A pair of clicking heels warns them seconds before Major Maria Hill sweeps into the room. She doesn’t glance at Steve when he looks up and although he knows he deserves her treatment, more shame darkens his cheeks. 

Only her voice betrays her fear when she says, “The King has demanded Rogers be sent to his quarters.”

Panic courses through Steve and Fury breathes hard through his nose.

“And he was informed that all punishment to royal guards must be carried out by their superiors?” Fury demands.

It’s a matter of respect that, despite how badly a guard betrays his or her royal, they are given punishment with honor. Only nobles and political opponents are taken off the grounds for their sentence. Especially for their beheadings. Those become spectacles for the people of the kingdom to watch. The oath is supposed to protect guards in life and in their final moments of death.

“Of course,” Hill responds to Fury’s question, back straight.

In a surprising display of pure anger, Fury primly walks over and kicks a stone wall with the tip of his steel boot. No pain is shown when he turns back to them. “Tell Winter’s _King_ ,” he spits out the title, “that if he wants _Captain_ Rogers, he can come fetch him himself.”

Maria Hill smiles. “Yes, sir.”

“And you,” he swings around, pointing a finger at Steve, “are smarter than this and have brought shame to my position but do not expect anything less than a swift beheading.” He follows Hill out of the room, not even bothering to close the door behind himself.

When Steve is finally left to his thoughts he thinks about his mother in her final moments. How strong she was and how horrified she’d be with him right now. He stands and paces, not enough to bring attention to the movement (if anyone were to actually be positioned outside of his room), but enough that he can feel his blood gravitate to his toes even as the churning of his stomach turns into lead.

He doesn’t own very many things other than what was once a title to his name and five silver coins. He has cousins in his old hometown that write to him every few years or so and ask for money. He supposes his dying wish will be to send the rest of his possessions to those cousins. And, if he can promote Sam Wilson to Captain. He’d serve the position best and he knows Fury agrees with him.

 

It’s when the adrenaline from the day has turned into exhaustion that he visits Steve.

The sun is low in the sky and the world outside of the window has been moving in a painfully normal manner. Steve didn’t expect everyone’s lives to change with his impending death but he wishes _something_ would change in everyday life.

“Have you been given anything to eat?” a voice asks while Steve watches a bird build a nest.

He jumps a mile at the sound and turns around too quickly, almost twisting his ankle to do so. When he sees that it’s the king with a bright bruise for a left eye, he drops to his knees. Yet he can’t get himself to bow his head, too struck by his own surprise.

The king is alone and has brought a pitcher and two goblets with him. All three articles clutched tightly in his flesh hand whilst his elegantly crafted wooden arm remains forever motionlessly next to his side. But what really strikes Steven is how _young_  the boy-king looks drowning in clothes that are mismatched and not quite two sizes too big. Especially the sleeve that holds the wooden arm.

His inability to bow properly does not go unnoticed by the king who grins in amusement and playfully pokes Steve’s thigh with a foot.

“I’ve been told that they want to cut your head off,” the king mentions casually as he plops down on the floor in front of Steve. The pitcher is placed in the space between them and the two goblets placed next to it.

Shame, again, burns Steve’s face red before the words reach him. He loves his kingdom and his queen, he has to remind himself before gritting his teeth and deciding not to respond.

The king smiles, the scars on his face deepen with it. “The thing is, it’s not you I want punished,” he says darkly.

Steve’s mouth drops open in shock. It’s well known the king has been loudly adamant that the guard be cut in size and Pierce be removed from his position. An opinion that has not won him any more favors with the guard. The queen is unmoving so it has since become a gossip point for the court more than anything else.

He now fills both goblets, nudging the fuller towards Steve, and changes the subject. “Have you ever tasted royal wine?”

Steve shakes his head and the king waves at the goblet. “Well, try it. It’s the one thing I like about this god forsaken life I’ve been given.”

Unsure how to respond to the bitter comment, Steven gulps the wine and promptly gags at the unexpectedly rich flavor that bursts on his tongue. The king grins in satisfaction when Steve takes smaller sips, cherishing each drink from the goblet. When his goblet runs out, the king quickly refills it to the brim.

“The queen would like me to take on a personal guard,” the Winter King fills the silence after he refills Steve’s goblet. “Something about the ‘attempts on my life’ these past few weeks,” he laughs quietly at something that Steve doesn’t understand. So Steve drinks more.

He’s heard about a series of pranks through Clint Barton, one of the Queen's personal guards. He was under the impression that sand in food or cloth wrapped to look like a snake from the king’s homeland were all in good humor but Steve could see how it could be perceived in a different light. If someone can put sand in his porridge, how much harder could it be to put poison? Or a real snake?

“She’s furious with me,” the king goes on eyes looking at a bit of wall to the left of Steve. “Do you have a family, Captain? A sister?”

When he shakes his head, the movement making him unexpectedly feel dizzy, the king’s gaze fixes on him again and he smiles not unkindly. “More wine?” he asks but doesn’t wait for a response before filling Steve’s goblet again.

More silence stretches while Steve drinks some more. He understands why the Winter King loves this beverage. It’s thicker than the stuff guards are given. Even the special sort of alcohol he got to taste when he celebrated becoming a Captain with Fury and Pierce. It also tastes faintly of nutmeg and allspice and reminds Steve of winter festivals. He’s suddenly struck with the giggles when he thinks of the Winter King’s favorite beverage tasting of winter.

“What’s so funny?” the king, presently, asks and Steve’s suddenly angry.

He regards the way the king is lounging on the ground. He looks like a teenager enjoying the heat of the sun. “You don’t look or act like a king,” his mouth tells the royal. “How am I meant to regard you as a king if you don’t even try to be one?”

The king’s smile turns sad. Steven stares at the bottom of his goblet and tries to remember how many of cups he’s had without food to soak up the alcohol content.

The king gently takes the cup away and sits up a bit. It doesn’t help to make him look more royal than when he was lounging. “Why did you punch me?” he asks, suddenly serious. “Did Pierce or Fury tell you to?”

Steve inhales quickly and chokes on his spit to quickly deny the accusation. “No of course not. They would never.”

The king looks searchingly at Steve, taking in his earnest expression and flushed cheeks. “I suppose not.” He leans back enough that his eyes stare up at the ceiling. A few moments pass and Steve hardly dares to drink more of the wine. 

Quietly, the king says into the silence, “Hello Natalia. How was the hunt?”

The Queen glides into the room at her name and her mere presence throws Steve back. She’s wearing standard riding pants and a laced bodice. Both articles are the kind of black only the wealthy could afford and her heels are custom made so as to not make a sound. Her training in stealth and the death of her last king has acquired her the nickname Black Widow by neighboring kingdoms. The king was poisoned and rumors strongly indicate that the Queen was the one to do it since the former king died after she offered him her chalice.

“Tell me, James, why is it that I had to walk all the way here in order to talk to you? And where is your personal staff?” She asks casually yet the underlying disbelief is clear.

The king stands and brushes a gentle kiss to her cheek, melting the Queen’s stiff shoulder line. Steve averts his eyes ignoring the urge to push the king away from her.

“He will be executed, of course,” she states, turning as if to lead them both to the castle. When the king doesn’t follow, she tilts her head at him.

The king nods and she smiles. “Both of their heads,” he adds and then she frowns.

“Did another attack you?” She demands and sweeps her eyes for more injuries.

The king takes her hand. “I’m safe and no one else physically harmed me. But if we execute Captain Rogers,” the queen’s eye twitches at his title and Steven feels more pathetic than ever before. “It only makes sense to also execute his commanding officer.”

The queen looks as confused as Steve feels. “Fury?”

“The attack happened while I was asking Colonel Pierce about training. Captain Rogers was under his command at the time,” the king explains and realization seems to hit Steve at the same time as the queen.

She huffs. “We are not executing the head of the royal guard.”

“Then we’re not executing Steve,” the king replies in the same stubborn tone. Steve shivers at the use of his first name, wanting nothing more than to crawl into a hole to rot.

The Royals stubbornly stare each other down until the king demands, “Am I not king?”

“Of course you are,” the queen responds at once. The king flinches at her words. “I hope you’re happy,” she adds, turning slightly so the king and Steve can only see her profile. “You’ve managed to find a training partner and a personal guard all in one day. I will see that Captain Rogers is promoted to your personal staff.”

“Natalia,” the king sighs, sounding pained.

“Your first act as king is to save the man that harmed you, James. I’m not sure I need to tell you how the court will react to the news. The least you could do is to take him out of my royal guard,” she snaps and storms off.

The king watches her go helplessly and sighs again.

Steve had known that the king didn’t really do much more than mope about the castle and go where the queen told him to but hearing it confirmed is another thing altogether. He wants to ask why him because he understands the only reason why his head is still one with his body is that the Winter’s King tied him neatly to one of the queen’s favored member of her staff. And the king doesn’t look happy about it. Yet when he turns and regards Steve seriously he doesn’t seem inclined to change his mind.

“You should sleep. Breakfast is at seven and Natalia despises tardiness.”

The Winter King sweeps out of the room leaving an empty pitcher of wine and two goblets behind. Steve reaches for the untouched goblet and chugs it down.

Might as well, his life is in the hands of the very king he despises.

 

The next morning is absolute chaos. Steve is woken by Fury who informs him he must still carry out guard drills despite being an official member of the castle. He runs an extra two miles more than everyone else and drills his sword training two times harder. When his squadron is done, he hastens to hurry through bathing and dressing in standard castle guard clothes left for him while he was training.

The uniform does not fit well and he abandons the cufflinks to save time, racing through the maze of court life to get to the castle’s entrance. Upon entering, a cleaning maid guides him to a smaller, more intimate dining hall in a part of the castle Steve’s never entered. True to the architecture of the building, he is unable to memorize each and every turn it took to get to this part and hopes he’ll be lead here every morning until he figures out how to do it himself.

The queen walks in seconds after him with her staff trailing behind. She sits at an end of the table in the middle of the room and turns her attention to an empty chair on the other end of the table.

As time passes, her glare deepens and she audibly tuts the king when he strides into the room. He’s sporting another horribly clashing style of dress. It’s two different styles of shirt and pants in two different colors of black. The queen raises an eyebrow but does not make a comment on the choice.

She does, however, remark, “You’re late.”

“I was lost,” he replies simply, walking over to her and placing a delicate kiss on her cheek. She rolls her eyes but clearly enjoys the attention.

Steve notices the group that followed the king in and recognizes a few members. Brock Rumlow is a son of one of the noble houses. No doubt he joined the court to find another person of nobility to marry. It’s common practice to serve the court in such a way as a form of networking for nobility.

“You should ask a member of your staff to guide you until you learn these halls better,” the queen tells him as though this is something she advises every day. For all Steve knows, it could be.

From the corner of his eye, he notices the staff all exchanging amused glances.

The king nods. “Of course. I will try to remember tomorrow.”

He turns and walks swiftly to his seat.

The rest of the breakfast hour is relatively quiet. The queen talks with her own staff about her agenda for the day and occasionally asks for input from the king about events they have scheduled together. Steve is reminded of his own hunger by the end of it and once he’s dismissed, he’s lead by a different maid to the part of the kitchens for his new status in the castle.

“It’s not much,” she remarks. “There’s more food at an earlier hour.”

Steve thanks her and eats as much as he can and the thought strikes him that he may have to race around every morning. It’s a sobering thing to think about.

In the next hours, Steve is required to follow the king from event to event. He notices quickly that the king doesn’t know where anything is and requests his staff to lead him.

“Haven’t we passed that picture before?” he mutters out loud.

“Of course not, sir,” Brock replies which seems to irritate the king into demanding that _he_ leads the group.

They’re late to every meeting or tutoring session.

During the tutoring session, Steve finds himself zoning out to the monotone told the history of his own kingdom. Although he forces himself to pay attention when he notices the king doing the same thing. The lesson is about the early troubles of harvest, but he still feels irritated that the king isn’t even attempting to pretend like he’s listening. Especially since he wasn’t taught this stuff when he was a child like Steve was.

This irritation follows Steve around as he follows the king around. The king refuses to be guided by his staff again and by the time he finds his way to the library, another tutoring session has come and past. The tutor looks apologetic when he says he cannot stay to teach the king today due to other responsibilities.

The whole thing chagrins the king enough he lets order the staff to lead him to his quarters, keeping his comments about the passages they’re taking him through to himself.

“Get out,” he orders once they reach the room.

“Your highness, we’re meant to stay with you,” one says.

The king rolls his eyes and shoos them off, “Leave me alone,” he demands.

Brock says, “You shouldn’t be left alone--”

“Captain Rogers can stay, the rest of you out,” he modifies, not quite pushing them out but still trying to lead them away.

One of the men looks distressed. “If the queen were to see us out there without you, sir--”

“Am I not king?” he booms, matching the volume of the staffer’s voice.

The question allows them enough pause that the king is able to lead them out without any more protests. Once the door is shut, he promptly locks it with three different locking devices. His entire body relaxes at the silence that meets him in his now nearly empty room and he jumps in surprise when he notices Steve has been left behind by his request.

Winter’s king bites his bottom lip and waves his hand at a chair. “Move that by the window,” he commands quickly and then adds a hasty, “please.”

Steve crosses the room and moves a surprisingly heavy cushioned seat to the indicated window.

The king thanks him and slouches in the seat, eyes gazing at the horizon the window frames.

After a half hour, commotion is heard outside of the door and the king quietly asks for the chair to be returned to it’s original position.

“Your highness, the queen is expecting you in five minutes,” the distressed staffer whines as soon as the king opens the door.

A deep breath of air is inhaled before the king pastes on a smile. “After you,” he requests and lets himself be lead through the castle again.

 

Steve’s day follows much the same patterns for the next two weeks and nearly every day the king tries to sneak to his room only to stare silently out the window for as much as he can before his staff demands his attention again. Once Steven thinks he heard the king crying in the chair but he saw no sign of tears when the time was over.

After breakfast one morning, Steve’s presence is stolen by one of the Queen's staffers and he’s surprisingly directed to an old office where he finds the queen writing with a quill on parchment. She directs her attention to him the second he bows his head to her.

“What does he do every day?” she demands. “When he sends his staff out.”

Steve feels instantly that he shouldn’t say. As though he’s abusing some trust given to him by the king but he reminds himself that he doesn’t even like the king who still seems uninterested in everything but the window, wine, and Natalia. 

“He stares out the window, Your Majesty,” he answers with some hesitation.

She blinks in surprise, obviously not anticipating such a simple answer. “Which window?” she asks, seemingly already knowing the answer when Steve answers.

“The one pointing west, ma’am.”

The queen nods and stands, offering her hand out to Steve. He takes it, not quite understanding why it was offered to begin with.

“He seems to like you for some reason I cannot contemplate. I want your word that you will protect him with your life because if something happens to him, I will not hesitate to take away your life,” she commands and then nods at her guard by the door. He leaves and closes it behind himself. “The king is homesick and I’m afraid I do not know how to cure it for him. He seems happier now with you,” she whispers, gripping Steve’s hand hard. “Swear to me that you will do right by him. Swear it.”

Steve vows to her that he will care for the king and her eyes greedily check his sincerity before releasing his hand.

“You are the first person to be called when James needs someone, do you understand?”

Steve nods and she waves him out.

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you subscribed to me, I'm sorry but do not expect an update to my One Direction fandom works. I adore them but I stopped caring or reading 1D fanfiction ages ago. And stopped caring about Louis after he punched the fan. I'm sure he had his reasons but I've got to draw the line somewhere.
> 
> For everyone else, thanks for reading! If you like the story, let me know. I'm not sure about the reception in this new fandom but I've been trying to find a place to write a King of Attolia AU because it's my absolute favorite book and stucky feels perfect for it.


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